


Carnal Sins

by AchillesLament (11Mydesign11), TortugaVerde



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Canon aged Hannibal, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannigram - Freeform, Lapdance, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pole Dancing, Smut, Young Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 04:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15065144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11Mydesign11/pseuds/AchillesLament, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TortugaVerde/pseuds/TortugaVerde
Summary: Doctor Lecter decides to try a new place for the night,The Golden Spur, and while it's not his normal haunt. He figures he a meal might present itself. What he hasn't anticipated is a the fiercely beautiful young dancer there who goes by the name Ganymede. Will the young man - Will Graham - earn his way onto the dinner table, or perhaps into Hannibal's heart and mind?





	Carnal Sins

_ The Golden Spur _ is especially rowdy tonight but Will Graham is okay with that. It means he will make more money and he won’t really have to work any harder than usual. From his position behind the DJ’s box he can see at least two parties happening out on the floor. He would rather spend his time up here between his sets after a quick run to the changing rooms between his sets.

Caraway, the DJ, isn’t as catty as the women and men who were his fellow dancers. Too much chatter and shade thrown around those overly cramped rooms.

“You’re up next, doll baby,” Caraway calls over his shoulder, his eyes roaming over Will for a second before he says, “C’mere, child. You got that all twisted.”

Will smiles at the affectionate names from Caraway and walks over holding his slacks in his hands, bare feet silent on the booth’s floor, arms out as he turns his back to the other man. “I know. I just couldn’t get it right and Evangeline was too busy trying to snoop through other people’s stuff to help me.” Deft fingers straightening the straps on the back of his underwear as he speaks, a light pat on his butt cheek signaling that Caraway is done. “I need to talk to that boy again,” the DJ says with a look of disappointment on his face.

“It’s okay, Cara, you know he is always gonna do it,” Will says as he’s fastening up his pants and straightening his bow-tie.

In the six months that Will has worked here, he has gotten used to the way his fellow employees behaved and most of them were good, a few weren’t so good. Will Graham, college student, master’s degree candidate, and stripper. This is better than any nine to five that he has worked in...ever. He doesn’t really have to talk to anyone, is allowed to say no to customers who wanted to buy a dance, and he doesn’t have to see the crowd. The stage lights make sure of that. Floor time is different, but he keeps his focus elsewhere.

The opening chords of  _ Fur Elise _ \- the dub-step remix- breaking him from his thoughts, Will rushes to drop a friendly kiss on Caraway’s cheek before taking the stage, barefoot with slacks and a bow-tie. His dance beginning as his announcement plays over the music. “Welcome to the stage! The classy gent, Ganymede, to see to all your Old World fantasies! Give it up for him!”

Rolling his eyes at the same time he begins to roll his hips, leaning into the music and letting the beat lift him up. It’s then that a man who looks far too distinguished for the place walks in. With his powerful eyes, expensive suit, and menacing, yet seductive gaze, he scopes out the scene.

No, it’s not entirely a place he would normally frequent but he has a lot on his mind tonight. Beyond that he’s quite the hedonist. 

What catches his eye, however, is the lithe, yet muscular beauty working the stage now. As well as the name that was given just before it.  _ Ganymede _ . He can’t help but smile to himself as he sits down in the chair right in front of the stage, or close. Ordering a Chianti, he pays the cocktail waitress and tips her well when she brings it back to him. He nods a thank you, gives her a wink, then returns his attentions back to the ethereal creature before him.

Just before the beat drops a second time, Will slowly shucks off his slacks, a wiggle of his hips as he lifts one leg free and then another. His pants aren’t the cheap tear-away kind, Will finds those to be quite tacky.

He leans backwards, letting the cold steel pole rest between his shoulder blades as his hips rotate to the beat, his custom zippered bottoms on full display. As he turns he catches a three piece suit out of the corner of his eye and decides this might be a good night after-all.

Running his hands over his naked chest, fingertips grazing and they fall to his hips, catching and tugging down a little at the top strap, emphasizing the curve of his ass.

The song is one of Hannibal’s favorite songs, even if it is an atrocious remaking, either way it could be worse. That hardly matters now. Not when he can see the way the light is catching the metal on the dancer’s zipper bottoms. He sips his Chianti then pulls out a twenty from his wallet, getting up to walk right up to stage, where he sits in one of the velvet covered chairs. His eyes pay close attention to every move the boy makes, his hand lifting to show he is indeed willing to pay. He always is for pure artistry.  

Dropping to a squat on the opposite side of the stage to allow another patron to slip a few ones into the top strap of his bottoms, Will notices as Mr. Three-Piece sits in one of the chairs at the other side of the stage. Making a circuit around the twin poles on his way over there.

Pushing off the closest pole Will drops to his knees, making sure to engage all of his back muscles, hips undulating as he crawls provocatively towards the man. Blue eyes looking over the man, expecting to find a doughy middle aged man, he smiles to himself when he sees just how wrong he is.

Mr. Three-Piece is absolutely sculpted. Will drops further to his elbows and then stretches his arms out in front, back arching and then twisting as he looks coyly back at his newest customer.

Hannibal’s dark eyes took in the curve of Will’s spine, the soft, muscular swell of his posterior, the way the lights illuminated his skin and heated it all at once. The scent was clean, and yet musky, pine and dog just barely there under the most prominent notes. When he sees the smile, one of his own tugs at his lips. He leans forward, flicking open the button of his waist coast just before he does with the hand not currently brandishing the crisp twenty.

Will’s eyes widen at the money. Not that it was being offered, but the amount. A twenty usually buys a dance. A private one, at that. Not that he is selling himself short, it is just policy of the place.

Will allows his knees to slip, spreading them so that his groin rest flat on the floor and he brings his hands up his body, one tangles in his hair and the other rests wrapped lightly around his own throat as he undulates his hips against the cold stage floor.

Pulling his long legs underneath him in a demure style kneel, Will looks at Mr. Three-Piece as he hold open the side of his bottoms.

Hannibal doesn’t put it there. He takes Will’s wrist instead, gingerly, and swiftly, thumbing over his pulse. He smiles, flashing sharp teeth, then places that twenty in his palm. The show that’s been put on for him is beautiful in its own way, but he’s wanting much more than that. He wants to get to know him, peek behind the curtain, into this striking creatures mind. When climax of the music is reached, and it calms, and that’s when he speaks, letting go of the dancer’s wrist, eyes locked with laser like precision. “Come to me after you’re finished here, hm? I’m Doctor Hannibal Lecter, and it’s been a pleasure,  _ Ganymede _ . I very much wish for it to continue to be.”

Will starts at the sudden, unexpected contact, but he doesn’t make a move to pull away, going as far to raise a hand to stop the bouncer that had started to head their way. A flirty smile graces his lips as he leans over to whisper as the music settles, “There’s a no touching rule for the main stage, Dr. Lecter.” Will feels like the man is still holding his wrist, even though the hold had been light and he could have pulled away, as he folds the twenty and sticks it behind his ear. The music dies completely and another dancer is announced, Tawny, taking the stage behind him as Will rises from his kneeling position. “Give me five minutes,” he whispers quickly before moving to collect his other tips and pass the new person. Tawny shooting him a look and he nods, silently saying he’s okay just before disappearing behind the curtain again.

Will quickly pulls his slacks back on and neatly folds his tips, minus the twenty, and tucks in under the corner of Cara’s relay board as he always does. Taking a few deep breaths before he goes out to circle the floor after stepping into a pair of thrift store wingtips and to see just what Mr. Three-Piece-Dr. was looking for tonight.

Hannibal smiles when he sees the dancer, Ganymede. He's back at his table, the bouncer in his periphery. He may just have to tend to him later, depending on how the rest of the night goes. He's drinking another glass of Chianti now, and has politely turned away several offers from dancers and patrons alike. He's got one person in mind and when he's closer, the doctor pushes out a chair for him. "Please, Ganymede, have a seat. Would you like a drink? It's on me, of course," he says, his words dripping off his lips, husky, rich, and smooth, like fine cognac.

Will’s smile is fake, it’s the one he usually uses with his customers, it doesn’t reach his eyes: but then no one has ever noticed. He leans over the back of the chair that Mr. Man has pushed out, his shoulders pushed up. “As much as I would love to keep you company for a little bit, and that drink is mighty tempting: I can’t. Still on the clock. But…” he pulls the twenty from his pocket and holds it out, “You paid for a dance. Not a tip.”

It’s fake, of course it is. Hannibal can definitely tell. “As a patron, it is at my discretion to decide how much I might wish to tip you or not. It was indeed a tip, however, if the only way that I can enjoy your company a bit longer is offer up more money for a tip, then I will play by your rules.”

For now.

He pulls out a one hundred dollar bill, looking at the young beauty,offering it up after finishing his drink.  “Take me to where you give your dances, that is, if you agree to give me one?”

Will’s eyes go large at the offered bill, he tucks the twenty away and clears his throat, “How about you keep that and we’ll see if my dancing is worth that much?” He doesn’t doubt his abilities, he is, however, doubting this man’s lack of frugality.

“But...I would be happy…” Thrilled. “to dance for you.” Reaching over and running his fingertips over the perfectly pressed lapel of the doctor’s suit jacket, letting his hand trail down to take the other man’s hand. Will gives him a gentle tug to encourage him to stand and follow him back to a private room.

The hallway is long and dark, muffled music coming from the main floor, barely masking some of the sounds coming from behind closed doors. Private dances, private shows, and private flings; management doesn’t often care as long as everyone is paid and everything is consensual. Will has never had a fling with a customer but he wasn’t beyond giving a one man show.

Stopping at a door with the brass number 13, his own private room, paid for and kept by him. He flicks the lock and holds it open for the good doctor. “After you?”

“Thank you.”

Ordinarily, Hannibal would insist otherwise, but this Ganymede is showing a courtesy. He won’t let that go to waste. So in he walks, already having tucked the one hundred dollar bill back into his coat pocket, just for now. He intends on paying him the money, one way or another. The first thing he notices is the scent. Sweat, musk, sweetness. All present. Ejaculate as well, likely from a patron who couldn’t contain himself just from a simple clothed dance. Vile. Not what he does for a living, but that he has to deal with such banalities from what he knows are likely pencil licking buffoons.

With a smile, he turns to the dancer, undoing his suit coat button with a twist of forefinger and thumb. “Where would you like me?”

If the good doctor knew how many people, men and women, had been through Will’s private room he might have a problem sitting anywhere. Being a doctor and all. The door softly clicks closed behind them and he flicks a switch to turn the hallway marker off, saying that is where Will is for the time being.

Doc’s smile is disarming, sharp and predatory teeth taking him by surprise. So far Dr. Lecter has shocked him quietly several times and the smile that he gives him this time is real and reaches his eyes. The blues muted in the dim purple lighting in the little room. “You can sit on the sofa or in one of these chairs. I can work anywhere.” As Will speaks he gestures to the chairs near the tiny stage with a center pole and the couch stretched along the wall. “Is there any music that you prefer? I usually like to dance to something classical with a twist,” a smile thrown over his shoulder as he’s turned to the sound system, his back muscles defined by shadows as he looks for something to play.

Hannibal considers the options, very much aware that under a black-light this place would reveal much and he can smell enough as it is. His keen senses work for him and against him at times. Be that as it may, he takes a seat on the sofa, keeping his legs somewhat parted, in lieu of crossing them like usual. This is certainly not something he’d normally partake of, but this dancer has something that he wishes very much to know more of.

A low growl vibrates in his chest at the imagery, though he isn’t sure if it’s heard. Either way. He smiles back, almost devilishly. “I think that will be quite nice. I am rather fond of the classics. A twist can also be nice, when done correctly.”

Ah the puns. They always please him.

Will misses the growl completely as he contemplates using a song that is one of his favorites but he’s never allowed to use on the main stage. “That’s very good to know,” he says almost absently as the first few cords of Aretha Franklin’s Deeper Love- dub-step begins to play.

The song isn’t Hannibal’s choice, it’s not classical, however, he can appreciate the beat, and the passion in Miss Franklin’s lyrics, as well as the meaning behind them. They are beautiful in their own way, and he finds that soon he is allowing himself to drown in it, in the dancer. Hips slowly gyrating, using them to turn his body and Will faces Hannibal with a mischievous smile. Hands trailing up his own body, fingers pulling his hair back, giving the doctor a clear display of his face even in the shadowed room. Hannibal watches intently, his dark eyes hooded, head ticked  _ just so _ , to the side as he takes in every nuance.

The second verse is greeted with the unfastening of Will’s slacks, mostly letting gravity do the work of them falling down. A quick shuffle step rids Will of his shoes. The middle chorus hits and the lights pulse before beginning to strobe slowly in time with the song. A fine sheen of sweat glints in the cool lighting as Will smoothly settles himself straddling the doctor’s lap, feet hooked on the inside of the man’s legs, keeping them slightly spread. Actual eye contact is made as he writhes, rising and falling, on Dr. Lecter’s lap.

The urge to touch ‘Ganymede’ is oh so strong, but the doctor is nothing if not a man of control and restraint — when he deems it necessary or worthwhile. Be that as it may, his cock is hard under the soft swell of the beauty’s ass, forming a tight line inside his finely tailored trousers. He grunts lowly, sniffing, and at the same time giving a seductive micro snarl. Mm, yes, he’s very much impressed. No words are spoken, nothing nor no one else matters in this moment. Just the two of them.

In here— in Will’s private room it’s not the club rules, no house rules apply here. It’s Will’s rules. His back arches sharply as he leans over the well dressed man beneath him, Will’s breath hot along the doctor’s neck when he whispers, “In here— just you and me— you can touch me.” And he honestly hopes the man takes him up on his offer. It’s not one he gives to many.

Extending his arms above his head, hands clasped together, his hips continue their undulation. And what he finds as he presses down more makes a smile grow on his face. “When you look back— don’t remember me as Ganymede. My name is Will.” His voice barely audible over the finishing beats of the song and he moves to stand up.

That’s when Hannibal takes Will’s offer. The intimacy of being given his actual name, the way his breath had felt against his skin, it sealed the deal. Before he can stand, the doctor grips his hip, the other hand going to his jaw, both actions gentle but firm. “The honor is mine,” he says, his voice gravely, yet still smooth somehow. A paradox, which is exactly what he is, though most don’t know it. His cognac hues go from the dancer’s eyes to his lips, and back again. “I will remember every last detail about you. If I saw you everyday, forever Will, I would remember this time.”

Will freezes briefly and then resettles on the doctor’s lap as then next song that plays is a random shuffle from his playlist. Nina Simone’s I Put A Spell On You. The soft dulcet tones plays much quieter than the bass of his regular, client focused, music. Will doesn’t resume his dancing but his hips pick up the rhythm of the music and sway gently almost as if on their own. The doctor’s words are heavy and they strike a chord inside him, this man beneath him standing far above his usual clientele. Hannibal’s hands on him cause his breath to stutter, the warmth seeping into his chilled skin, he very nearly closes his eyes and nuzzles the hand holding his jaw.

Will tries to lighten the doctor’s word by replying, “If that’s the case; it’ll make me sad because then you’ll never come back and see me.” And, oh, how Will wanted this particular customer to be a regular for him. The money be damned. Will wanted to see his face, feels those hands again, his very essence making an impression on the young dancer.

Hannibal licks his lips, wanting nothing more than to flip Will on his back, pin him down, and plunder his mouth,  _ feast _ on him. He doesn’t though. The meat needs marinating, so to speak. Instead, he leans forward, pressing his groin up, letting Will feel the effect on him once more, and ghosts his lips over the dancer’s. “I would not wish to see you sad, however, I do wish to see you again. Be it here, or perhaps in my home, for dinner sometime…”

Brows raise as his lips quirk into a smile that nearly is pressed against the lips of the beauty on his lap. He roves his hand from hip to side, then around back, just above Will’s ass as he awaits the decision.

The wine the doctor had been drinking is sweet on his lips and Will wants to lick the taste from his mouth. Restraint is a thing. It has to be a thing. Especially since this is the first time he has ever seen this man. And could possibly be the only time Will ever sees Doctor Hannibal Lecter. The chances are good that he will never forget that name, that’s for sure.

Will rocks his hips down on instinct when the doctor presses up and oh, god.... Such a seemingly put together man being affected by him in such a way is a heady thing. That nearly makes him erase the millimeters separating their lips with a searing kiss. God, he  _ wants  _ to.

His home? The doctor’s home? With a shaky voice, Will answers him, “How about a coffee at then end of my shift?” A hopeful gleam in his eyes as that was actually about ten minutes ago.

Hannibal wants to kiss him too, wants to know him intimately. Intellectually. Personally. A taste would also be nice, but… that is not his intention at this point. The grind against his groin is titillating. He’s on fire, burning for ‘Ganymede’ — Will. “Coffee, yes. Wherever you wish to go and have one,” he offers, usually particular but exceptions can be made for the beauty on his lap. He strokes his face, breathing in his scent, feeling every bit of him on his lap, and observing every nuance. 

“I should get dressed if we’re going to grab a cup.” But Will doesn’t stop the slight movement of his hips or make any move to actually get off of the doctor’s lap. “First…” His voice fades as Will leans in and whispers, “May I have one, just one kiss?” Arms preemptively wrapping around the older man’s neck. He will back off if the doctor says no, but Will is hoping that he won’t.

“You never have to worry about asking for that, Will,” Hannibal husks, wetting his lips. “But I appreciate the courtesy.” With this, his hand rests over the soft, ample swell of Will’s posterior, his other hand still holding his face, and he closes the gap, pressing their lips together, exploring with a slotted kiss. It’s divine. Religious, in it’s own way, and the deep groan he releases into their lip lock tells that tale without a need for words.

He has never been so glad that he asked a question in his life. Rocking forward, Will brings their bodies closer together as he deepens the kiss even more, the older man’s body feeling more solid beneath the fine clothing that he expected. Will’s lips parting, a soft moan muffled between them. The groan from the doctor’s chest sending goose-flesh rippling over his body. Will dares to run his fingertips of the man’s hair that just barely graces his collar.

Reluctantly, Will pulls back, only just a breath away. His lips curving into a smile, bright with a look that mirrors intoxication, “Fortune favors the bold…’’

Hannibal grins back. Yes, this boy is cunning. Could he have found the opportunity for companionship at last? Someone worthy? He is eager to find out. “It appears as though it does, Will. Fortune certainly seems to be on my side tonight.”


End file.
